Perfect Demons
by EmilytheSlayer
Summary: Buffy's friends want her to be perfect and happy again. Under all that pressure, just how far will Buffy go to reach perfection? Meanwhile, Spike struggles to come to terms of his relationship with Buffy. But when he see's she's falling apart, he realizes he's the only one who can save her from the demons inside. (TW: mention of eating disorders and self-harm.)
1. Headache

_I don't care if it hurts._

 _I want to have control._

 _I want a perfect body._

 _I want a perfect soul._

 _-"Creep" by Radiohead_

It hurt.

A thin trail of blood trickled down from her arm and onto her cold, bony feet. She watched in a complete, stony daze as the crimson red liquid spiraled down into the drain. Reminding her of the failures she had made throughout her life. The edge of her fingernail dug deeper into her skin. It wasn't enough. The cold water splashed against her pale body and, tilting her head back, she closed her eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. Everything seemed peaceful. There was no music blasting, no television playing and no shouting. Just the water from the showerhead splashed against her cool skin, creating a sense of tranquility. Although the argument from last night that she had with Giles about slaying made the headache pounding inside of her not as peaceful.

She had lost control that night.

Showing her emotions and vulnerability was something Buffy refrained very hard from doing.

But she lost it in front of Giles, complaining to him about how exhausted she was and that showed her weakness. They weren't supposed to know how miserable she was, but a slip of her tongue and the control she had melted away. They were supposed to be persuaded by her fake smiles and laughs that she was getting better.

But it didn't happen that way because… because…

 _I have no more fucking control_. _That's why_.

Her self-control was the only thing that kept her from breaking down. It prevented her from doing stupid things like everything she had done the night before. Everything was stupid. She was stupid! _Jesus fucking Christ, Buffy. Get yourself together._ Running a thin finger along her cut she pressed down on it, the wound reopened and blood came dripping down. It fascinated her.

She was almost grateful her healing powers hadn't kicked in yet.

She still wasn't finished. Questions still needed to be answered.

What happened to her self-control?

She had lost it all after her resurrection.

Now she was useless. Nothing. She wanted control.

Pounding on the door brought her out of her own little world and back into reality. She opened her eyes and groaned when she heard who was behind it.

"Buffy, open up! I need to pee!"

 _Great._

"Give me a minute!" she called back, coming out of her daze, and turned the shower off. Dawn groaned loudly on the other side.

She scrubbed at her arm violently, clearing most of the blood. Scrambling out of the shower, she grabbed her towel from the hanger and wrapped herself in it. Gripping the sink with both hands, she closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. Her quick escape from the shower had a nauseating affect on her. God, she needed a nice long, fucking sleep. It was a bad idea to not sleep for three days while running only on caffeine.

 _Damn those fucking bills and vampires' and-_

"My bladder is about to _explode_!" Dawn whined from behind the door while pounding on it like crazy.

"Okay, okay! Calm down, Jesus!" Buffy snapped, opening her eyes. She took one quick glance at her tired reflection- _well don't I look crappy today_ , and opened the cabinet above the sink. She grabbed a bottle of Tylenol and popped two of them in her mouth. She considered on taking all of them because she knew that two wouldn't be enough to calm the pounding in her head. Also not a good idea to spend an afternoon nursing two bottles of vodka while blasting music at full volume when home alone. She tilted her head back and swallowed them. The pounding orchestra Dawn was conducting on the door wasn't helping the excruciating pain coming from Buffy's head.

"I swear to god, Buffy. If you don't open this door, I'm gonna pee on the fl-" before she could finish her sentence, a seriously pissed off looking Buffy swung open the door and walked right past her.

"All yours" she muttered, not looking back and shut the bedroom door behind her.

Dawn frowned and looked at the closed door to her sister's bedroom. _She's in an odd mood today_ , Dawn thought. What the hell was going on? The sudden need for having to urinate came by again in her mind like an alarm and she dashed inside the bathroom, forgetting about her sister.

Buffy lay on her bed with a pillow covering her face, screaming. The pillow muffled the loud noises that escaped from her mouth, but couldn't calm the storm brewing in her head. She pushed the pillow down harder, letting it suffocate her, and closed her eyes. Her screams died out and the pain she felt subsided. For a moment, the world stopped and she felt at peace. The calming sensation of lying down, her heartbeat slowing as time passed by, knowing she could die, was almost serene. Then she felt it.

The sharp pain in her chest as her heart pounded and pounded, begging for oxygen and to be released from the pressure of the pillow. Buffy's eyes popped open and she panicked, throwing the pillow off of her. Panting, she sat up and wrapped her arms around herself. What the hell just happened? Had she tried to kill herself? No, no if she was then she would've give in and let the pillow suffocate her. Funny way to kill yourself, she thought. A pillow. How unique. She shook her head, confusion written all over her pale face. Her mind took over her body but she fought it and took control using her body.

 _Control_.

That was it. Her body. The physical part of her she could control.

A small smile crept upon her lips as an idea popped into her head. She found out a way to get control. Starting with her body. If she could control it, make it perfect, then she could try and control her mind. She'd be perfect and better. She'd be the perfect slayer. That's what her friends wanted. One step at a time was how she was going to do this. It was time for the planning part. How was she going to approach this? To take control of her body would mean… it would mean…

 _Well shit_.

Buffy rubbed at her temples, trying to get the gears in her mind to work and come up with a plan. She was desperate for control. It was the only thing that held her together and she couldn't bear to fall apart. Not now.

She wanted perfection, right? So that meant making her body look perfect. But what does that have to do with keeping control? Buffy frowned and closed her eyes tightly.

 _Got it_.

Food.

Food was her weakness here; it was the thing that she had to avoid to prevent her from losing control and being perfect. Losing weight was her goal to having the perfect body and taking control. She knew it would be difficult, to resist all of the temptations. Food would be constantly surrounding her, now that Dawn had bought a cooking book, her sister would make her eat whatever unhealthy thing she had cooked up. Buffy took a moment to wonder when and how Dawn managed to buy the cookbook. Was it the allowance Dawn had saved? She shrugged it off and focused her attention back to the plan.

One advantage Buffy had was her lack of appetite. Ever since her resurrection, food tasted like crap and dirt, and water was the only thing she could keep down at the moment. Having no appetite prevented her from getting hungry, which was a good thing. Other people would just find it crazy. Another advantage would be her slaying duties. She could burn some calories during her training and patrolling. If they see her actually making an effort with her duties instead of just moping around being tired all the time like she's been doing the past few weeks, it would show them that she was getting better.

Okay, this was good.

Buffy reopened her eyes and pushed herself up off her bed. She walked over to the mirror that stood in the corner of the room and examined her body. She had definitely lost weight since high school, Buffy noticed. Her cheekbones were hollow and her collarbones seemed more prominent. Her curves were smaller than before. For a split second, Buffy considered on just forgetting about the whole taking control on her body, but she shook it off quickly.

 _I need to do this_.

She stepped closer to her reflection and frowned. She really did look tired. Small, dark circles were under her eyes. The paleness of her skin really added to the effect.

 _Okay, now I think I need some coffee_.

Buffy closed her tired eyes and turned her head away from her reflection. She couldn't bear to look at it anymore. She was going to change. She needed to fix the big fuckup that she'd become. The sound of the bathroom door opening caused Buffy to open her eyes again. Either Dawn's bladder had a huge supply of urine or she fell asleep on the toilet and just woke up. Buffy let out a small laugh as she visualized Dawn falling asleep on the toilet and just letting her arms sag low and her body toppled over.

"Buffy?"

 _Shit_.

Clearing her throat, Buffy walked over to her closed bedroom door and swung it open. She forced a smile on her face and resisted the urge to just slam the door in her sister's face.

"Yeah?"

Dawn raised a brow and crossed her arms, shifting her weight to her left foot.

"You look like crap."

Giving her a dark look, Buffy put on a terrifying smile, her eyes not matching the expression.

"Thanks." she responded with heavy sarcasm.

"Yeah, um, I was just wondering if you'd like to…" biting her lip, she tucked a string of hair behind her ear before continuing, "go out, just the two of us? For lunch or-or something?" she smiled nervously, mentally crossing her fingers. She really hoped Buffy would say yes. Ever since Buffy had been brought back, she hadn't been keen on the whole socializing thing. Dawn felt like changing things up a bit. She just hoped for it all to work out.

Buffy, on the other hand, had to restrain from rolling her eyes and just walking away, back to her bed, to sleep. Did she want coffee? Yes. Desperately. Did she want to go outside? No. Did she want to be normal? Yes. Did she not want her sister to suspect anything? Definite yes. She let out a small sigh and gave Dawn a small smile.

"Sure."

Dawn's smile grew, lighting up her face. She jumped up and down, clapping her hands. Grabbing Buffy's wrists, she pulled her closer.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Letting go of her sister's wrists, Dawn ran off into her room, still bouncing up and down, squealing excitedly.

"Yes! Don't worry, it's gonna be fun! We should totally go shopping after or something cause I got some money saved that I wanna spend!" she said, waving her arms before disappearing into her room.

Buffy's face fell flat and her smile disappeared. It was going to take all of her energy to socialize and act happy. She was sick and tired of doing it, but it was a way of saying to the people of the world, "Hey! I'm getting better! Look at my smiles and laughs and how interested I am with being alive!"

She just had to get through this day, and the next, and the next, until she is fixed and perfect and her friends know that she is better. Her sister's bedroom door opened and Dawn walked out wearing casual skinny jeans and a silky, black tank top with a rose pattern on it. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and she had applied some eyeliner.

"Wow, okay. Do I have to get all dressed up?"

Dawn gave her sister a look and just shrugged. "If you want."

"It's just us, going to eat lunch at a cheap place, Dawn. Nothing to get all fancy about."

"Fine then. Do what you want. Not my fault that you're jealous of my looks." Dawn smirked, looking her sister straight in the eye. Buffy opened her mouth to say something back, but Dawn grabbed her arm and dragged her down the stairs.

"Let's just go. Cause now I'm actually really hungry." She said.

"Okay, fine."

Dawn let go of her sister's arm and walked out the door, her ponytail bouncing up and down. Buffy closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. She prayed to the Gods for her not to screw up and make her more of a failure.

"Time to clean up the big mess that I am" she muttered before following Dawn out the door.


	2. Breathe

The door to the empty café opened, ringing the bell on top, and two girls entered. A waitress glanced up at the first two customers of the day. One who looked about 16 years old with long, dark brown hair pulled into a ponytail, smiling. The other girl, the waitress assumed was the older sister, looked slightly uncomfortable. From her distance, she could see the older girl's hands shaking. She looked like a lost little puppy looking for its mommy in a crowd full of strangers. The waitress frowned and continued to study this girl who had sparked a strange interest within her. Her blonde hair was slightly messy and not as neat as the other girl's. She was pale and looked exhausted, unlike the other girl who looked full of life.

 _Well, it is the morning… maybe she's not a morning person?_

The waitress shook her head, put on a bright smile and walked up to the girls, grabbing two menus sitting on the counter.

"Hello, Ladies. Welcome to The Daily Grind Café. Where would you like to sit this morning?"

The brunette girl pulled at her sister's sleeve and pointed towards the table beside the front window.

"Can we sit there?" she asked.

Her sister nodded, with a glazed expression. The waitress noticed this but decided to ignore it and instead, she smiled, and walked them over to the table. She handed them the menus and walked away, leaving them be. She knew it wasn't her business, but she did know these two sisters were hiding something and boy, did she love the mysteries some customers held.

She looked at the sisters again, remembering two customers she met a year ago that came into the café, both were girls. One, she remembered, the brunette girl, had looked frightened and was pale and shaking, like the blonde sister who had just walked in. And the other customer, her friend, had blonde hair and her arms wrapped around the scared brunette, comforting her. It was something Piper could never forget. The way the blonde held the girl close to her, feeding her was so heartbreaking. She remembered the sickly appearance of the frightened girl, the worried expression of the blonde. What had happened to the two girls? Piper didn't know.

And she probably never will.

It had been a year and those two mysterious girls hadn't stepped foot in the café since.

Piper snapped back to reality and looked at her newly customers. She tilted her head and studied them harder. Unlike the girls from a year ago, there was no comforting, or anything like the heartbreaking moment from a year ago. These two still had a story, something dark. The older sister's eyes told it all. She looked so broken, but the obvious mask she was wearing to cover her pain was certainly convincing her younger sister who was chatting away happily.

"Whatcha getting?"

Buffy snapped her attention from the floor back to her sister, who seemed to be overwhelmed with all the food and drink possibilities.

"What?"

Dawn raised a brow and put down her menu, pointing at all of the selections.

"To eat?"

Buffy blinked, then let out a shaky laugh, realizing what Dawn meant. She tucked a string of hair behind her ears with shaking hands and leaned in closer to read the options. She ignored the weird look Dawn was giving her. Rows and rows of fatty, disgusting food was written before her, their descriptions making her nauseous. She pictured the fat oozing from the burger, dripping down her fingers. And the loud crunch of food in someone's mouth, chewing and chewing, mixing together all kinds of fatty foods. Buffy tore her eyes away from the menu, pushing down the bile that had just risen in her throat.

"I still haven't decided."

Nodding, Dawn continued looking at the menu, ignoring the hurt look in her sister's eyes.

Buffy hated this. She hated feeling like this. She hated waking up everyday with no will to live and the constant thoughts that swarmed in her mind of killing herself. She hated the way her friends looked at her like she was a fragile piece of glass and could break any minute. She hated herself for using Spike just so she could feel something. She hated all the pressure everyone put on her. She hated…

She hated herself.

Why couldn't she just be fucking _normal_?

She wanted to cry and scream and break stuff. She wanted to rip the menu in half and throw it at the waitress. She wanted to smash the windows and scream at the top of her lungs. She wanted to cry on her sister's lap and let Dawn comfort her. But she couldn't.

Doing that would mean a loss of control and that's not what she wanted.

What she wanted was control.

 _I can do this_.

She looked at the menu again and focused her attention on the list of appetizers. God, why did she agree on going out with Dawn?

"Have you decided on something, girls?"

Buffy blinked several times before turning to the waitress. She glanced at Dawn, gesturing for her to go first.

"Oh, um, may I have the Grilled Cheese?"

Piper smiled, taking the menu from Dawn's grip and nodded. She then turned towards the older sister, who seemed to be struggling. Piper frowned, unsure of what to do. Cautiously she placed a steady hand on the girls shaking shoulders as a sign of comfort.

"Do you know what you want, Sweetie?" she asked softly.

Dawn worried gaze focused onto her sister's vacant face. Her eyes glazed over. There was definitely something wrong. Her sister had never acted like this. Well, never in front of other people. Hesitantly she reached towards her sister's hand and held it tightly.

"Buffy?"

Something flickered in Buffy's eyes snapping her out of her thoughts, the haunting vibe escaping from her eyes and replaced with the mask she wore everyday that hid her pain. She twisted her way out from Dawn's grip and flashed a smile at the waitress, whose face looked full of worry for the strange customer.

 _Make up your mind, Buffy_.

 _Fucking choose_.

"I-" the words couldn't come out. She didn't know what she wanted. She didn't like that there were so many options to choose from. Why couldn't things just be plain and simple? At least have ten items on the menu. Not two pages of them. The sudden desire to cry came at her, making it harder to breathe.

It was too much.

She began to panic.

Her breathing grew rapid, she felt her chest constrict and the air seemed to tighten around her. She closed her eyes blocking out the panicked voices coming from her sister.

 _Just breathe_ , a voice in the back of her mind said.

She tried to.

But she couldn't.

Not with people staring.

She opened her eyes again with a terrified expression. The mask she wore finally slipped and revealed the crumbling porcelain doll underneath. She felt the bile rise up in her throat. Covering her mouth she dashed from her seat and into the bathroom to throw up.

Dawn's eyes rested on the bathroom door, still unsure on what happened. She knew her sister was struggling with her whole resurrection but she never really knew just how much Buffy was hiding.

Until now, that was.

Whatever Buffy had been hiding, restrained from showing, came through in the small moment of her panic. Her sister was struggling and no matter how many times Buffy said she was getting better, how her friends believed it and as much as Dawn tried to, she wasn't.

No.

 _She's getting worse_.

And it terrified her.

A tear escaped from her eye.

"Buffy" the word escaped from her lips and she couldn't help but feel her heart break.

Piper looked back at the younger sister, then to the bathroom door, then back to the sister.

What the hell?

She swallowed and cleared her throat to hide the awkwardness that she felt.

"I'll be back with your, um, food".

The brunette gave her a distant nod, and wiped at her eyes. Piper slowly walked away and back near the front of the café. She placed the order by the kitchen window for the cook to see and went back to the counter. As she wiped the top for the third time in a row, she couldn't help but think about the two sisters. There was definitely something going on. The blonde seemed to have had some sort of panic attack. Piper felt a sting of guilt, wondering why she didn't bother to help the poor girl. It wasn't like she didn't want to help. It was just… so sudden.

She'd never seen a customer have a panic attack, or anyone for that matter. Except for on television or in movies.

 _But that doesn't make it okay to ignore them_.

Her inner voice had a point.

The ring of the bell told her the grilled cheese was ready. She set down her cloth and took the plate from the cook, smiling softly at him. She walked over to the table and saw the brunette girl with her head in her hands.

Piper stopped for a moment then placed the food in front of the girl who lifted her head when the plate made contact with the table. Dried tears stained her cheeks as she rubbed at her eyes, smiling.

Hesitantly, Piper glanced at the bathroom door, hoping for the older sister to come walking out but when a minute passed by she gave up staring at the door and took a seat across the younger sister.

"Hey, um-" she stopped. Piper had no idea what the girls name was.

"Dawn" she said.

Piper was surprised from the quick response then cleared her throat. She took Dawn's hands and pulled them close.

"Look, Dawn, I can see you're worried. Your sister is clearly not in a good place right now. Am I right?"

Dawn nodded, sniffling.

"I don't know what's going on between you two but I just want you to know that your sister needs you. Of course, that must be obvious. But I want you to know that she _really_ needs you. Whatever she's been hiding has peeked through and wants you to find it."

Dawn gave her a quizzical look, wrung her hands out from Piper's grip, and then crossed her arms.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Piper sighed, rubbed at her face and then smiled warmly.

"Because I've been down the same path. The thousand-yard stare your sister has is not something to be ignored when her eyes look as empty as my bank account."

Dawn gave her an " _are you serious_ "look and raised both her brows.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Anyways, you get my point, right?"

The girl nodded.

Piper leaned forward and folded her hands, looking intently into Dawn's eyes.

"Be there for her, okay? No matter what kind of shit she causes or what she does, don't give up on her." Tears brimmed in Piper's eyes and she looked down.

"I made that mistake a long time ago when I lost my best friend." She choked out before the sobs took over her body.

Dawn, unsure on what to do reached her hands out and let the crying waitress hold on to them as she stared down in pity.

Buffy sat hunched over, clutching onto the toilet seat for dear life, dry heaving. When she felt like passing out from her efforts of getting rid of the sick feeling in her stomach, she sat against the wall and put her head in her hands.

She still felt like shit.

And now everyone knew.

Well, everyone as in Dawn and the waitress. _Piper was it?_

Suddenly she was crying. Hot tears ran down her face, and they wouldn't stop. She rubbed at her eyes trying to clear them but they kept on coming. And coming. Everything she had kept bottled up inside of her came out in one big, hot mess of tears.

God, it was too early to be breaking down like this.

 _You're pathetic and weak_.

 _You have to be strong_.

Buffy nodded to herself and wiped at her eyes. She lifted her head and stood up shakily, her body suddenly feeling heavier. She walked over to the sink and turned the faucet on. She ran her shaking finger under the cold water until it was freezing.

Cupping her hands, she splashed the freezing water onto her face in an attempt to wake her up from this shitty dream.

And she failed.

 _Just like I do at everything else_. She failed at saving Jenny from the evil clutches of her former lover, she failed at keeping her normal college guy as a boyfriend, she failed at being a sister, at doing taxes and bills, she failed at being a slayer, and she even failed at being dead!

 _Couldn't I just stay dead?_

 _Please?_

Oh how her Death Wish longed to come true. With a sigh, Buffy took a quick look at her reflection then slowly walked to the front of the door. The put her forehead against it, and let the cool air that came off it surround her in the cold. She gripped the knob and turned it, pushing it open, not expecting the sight before her.

The waitress, Piper, was crying and clutching onto Dawn who was looking down at her with a sad look.

"Hey."

Dawn looked up and saw the broken face of her sister with an attempt of a smile.

"Hey, you're back."

At this, Piper lifted her head and smiled when she saw the older sister, whom she should learn the name of, she realized.

Buffy simply nodded and walked towards the two. She glanced at the once appealing and hot looking grilled cheese, and pointed.

Dawn's eyes widened and she wrung her hands together.

"Oops."

Piper rose from her chair, sniffling.

"Don't worry. I can pack it up for you girls to take home."

Buffy was taken aback by how nice this woman was. She shook her head and smiled.

"No, it's okay. Thank you but-" she was interrupted by Piper's hand stopping her.

"No 'Buts'. I got this. Don't worry."

"Really? Are you sure?"

Piper gave her a cold look.

"If you keep declining this offer than you won't get it for free."

Now it was Dawn's turn to speak. Her eyes widened and she stood up from her seat.

"For free?"

Piper nodded. "Just like I said."

After an awkward exchange of stares, Buffy finally agreed for the free meal, leaving a big tip. Piper waved the two sisters off and smiled slightly to herself.

 _They better come back_.


	3. Heaven Knows

The music blared loudly in the club, flashing lights as the people there danced their problems away. The masks everyone wore as they drowned in grief, hiding in the crowd as the beat took them away, was almost funny.

 _People can be so oblivious. Narcissistic assholes. Ignore everybody's pain but your own. That's the sad, pathetic reality of this generation._

Thankfully, Spike wasn't from this generation. No, he was from… God knows. But he knew that he wasn't one of those ignorant assholes. He cared. Deeply. He was a caring, loving vampire! He sunk his fangs in the heart and soul of a sweet chocolate cake and shared it with the world to provide happiness. Chocolate made people happy. He knew that because Dawn told him when she was…

What did she call it? Bleeding out?

God knows.

Women and their weird bodily functions, something he could never understand.

Maybe he was being too optimistic, too full of himself. Did he really provide happiness? No. He provided the finger that pushed all the buttons of the Slayer. He knew she didn't like him. Yet, she still came. And came. And came. Thrusting her fragile body onto his in a passionate yet hateful kissing battle.

It messed with him.

Not in a, "confused teenager sexuality", type of way. It was more of a, "what the fuck is happening?" way.

Okay, no. Scratch that. He was confused. Confused with the whole… he couldn't call it a relationship. Right?

Spike rubbed at his tired eyes and downed his fifth shot. The people dancing became a mix of unfocused shapes. He was drunk.

No.

He was wasted.

Drunk was two shots ago. What was he doing? This clichéd action of drinking at a club, sad and alone, couldn't make him look more of a loser from a pathetic Lifetime movie. Groaning, he put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. It hurt. He couldn't _wait_ for the agonizing hangover that he'd have tomorrow. But he deserved it, right? The pain. It reminded himself that he was nothing but a monster.

 _You're in love with pain_.

That's what she had said to him before things got… _rough_. Spike laughed. He had to admit. Buffy was right, not just about him, but herself. They were both monsters. Their inner demons fought with each other in a heated battle in the ruins of that abandoned building. Internally, the two of them fought in such a way that eventually the demons connected and decided to be whole. Their inner demons were drawn to each other which was what made them…

 _Whole_.

Was that even the right word to use? If he were asked to describe the fact that he felt this connection between the two of them would be impossible. She hated him and he hated her. So why did she keep coming back and why did he let her? There was something he was missing.

Spike lifted his head and ordered another drink. Maybe the alcohol could clear things up. Or have the opposite effect and make him forget. That was also an ideal option. The bartender brought his glass over as well as the bill, and then walked away.

"Oi, I'm not finished!" Spike yelled, waving the receipt in the air. When the bartender didn't respond, he took a swig from his glass and stared deeply at the piece of pathetic paper and wondered why things like those even existed. Were they _supposed_ to cause stress? When did someone decide for a house to have a bill that you needed to pay for every year? Why couldn't the house, once you bought it, be free? No bills, or taxes.

 _That'd make every bloody human being's lives much easier._

Spike downed the rest of his drink, left a tip for the bartender and hurried out of the club.

The night sky was dark and cloudy. No stars shone, unfortunately. He liked looking at the stars, pointing out the special groups like the big dipper. Dru liked to count the stars. Spike dug into the pockets of his leather jacket and pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled the scent of the tobacco as it ran through his veins. He couldn't remember when he began smoking, but he found it relaxing. It wasn't like he could die from it. Shaking his head, he began walking back to his crypt.

First, he made a stop at the liquor store, handed the nice guy, Jimmy, who was working back at the corner 10 bucks, for the two bottles of Jack Daniel's and proceeded walking down the street. He decided taking the long way back through Revello Drive. That way he could check in at the Summer's residence and hopefully talk some sense into the slayer and sort out all of their shit. Also because he had heard from Dawn while waiting for his mug of blood to heat up in the microwave, that she had overloaded in the process of buying packs of those tiny little marshmallows he liked so much.

Whistling the latest tune stuck in his head, Spike walked up towards the front door. He stumbled a bit but caught his balance. Throwing his cigarette to the side he tapped lightly on the door causing it to open slightly. Frowning, Spike pushed it open all the way and stepped into the dark hallway. He noticed one lamp lit dimly near the living room. The silence filled him with worry. Although this sort of setting would be ideal for him, it didn't fit in terms with the Summer's residence.

Which was what made it worse.

 _Maybe lil' Bit and Sis went to sleep?_

Spike nodded to himself. _Yes_. That would make the most sense. He shrugged the feeling off and let his eyes wander to the floor. He noticed the one pair of shoes near the door. They were Buffy's. The only other pair missing was Dawn's. He knew the Scoobies were at the Magic Box; he was in there before he decided to get drunk.

Maybe Dawn was with them? But then Buffy would've had to be there as well.

 _Quit worrying. Everyone's fine. It's the bloody alcohol that's making you panic._

 _Dawn was fine._

Sighed, he rubbed at his face tiredly and walked to the kitchen. He pulled a pack of the marshmallows from one of the cabinets near the fridge and grinned. He brought it to his face and inhaled the delicious, sweet scent of pure goodness.

"Spike?"

Throwing the bag to the side, Spike looked at the figure standing in front of him. His eyes traced over her body and when they met her eyes, he smiled. But it was gone in an instant when the back of her hand slammed hard into his cheek.

"Ow!" Spike screamed, laying a hand over his cheek. The hint of a bruise crawled under his skin and he frowned slightly. He couldn't wait to see what colour it would be in the morning. Blue? Yellow? Purple? Black? It was an amazing rainbow of pain and a pot of suffering at the end.

"What the hell, Slayer?" Spike glared at her, bending down to pick up the bag of marshmallows.

"Sorry. You, um, freaked me out." Buffy said, wrapping her arms around herself. She looked at the bag he was holding and stared at it questionably.

Following her gaze, Spike held out the bag in front of her. He noticed the slight panic that flashed in her eyes before shaking her head.

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

He reached inside of the bag and brought a marshmallow to his mouth, chewing on it seductively. He licked the bits of his thumb with a sign of satisfaction.

"You're missing out on a delicious opportunity, Slayer."

With a sigh, Buffy walked away into the living room.

"Maybe later", she called from behind causing Spike to smile. He casually walked behind her, reaching into the bag to grab another marshmallow, and sat on the edge of the couch that Buffy was seated on. Spike took this opportunity to study the Slayer from up close. He noticed earlier there was _something_ different about her, but he just couldn't lay a finger on it. The extra-large sweater she wore hung loosely from her small frame, covering her shorts. Her goldilocks hair fell past her shoulders and Spike resisted the urge to reach out and stroke it. The paleness of her skin was noticeable, making the dark circles under her eyes stand out against the dim lighting. His eyes finally rested on her face and then he saw it. The sudden change in her that took over his mind as he lay in the darkness, thoughts swarming as every possibility for her actions ran through his head, biting at him- no pun intended.

Something was upsetting her.

It was something so painful, so… _heartbreaking_ that made her look so _broken_. So lost.

But what was it? He had assumed it was her post-resurrection phase, but even he knew, from experience, you eventually forgot about it. It may take a while, but at least the traumatizing event doesn't break the person anymore. Not _as_ much. She was in some dimension. Red said she had been in Hell. For the first month, Spike almost believed it. That the Slayer, the person who saved the world from _every_ bloody apocalypse, the one with a heart as big as the universe, was sent to hell for her soul to rot in while suffering eternal misery.

It made sense at the time. But 147 days later, he realized it was stupid. It was stupid to think, that this gem of a hero would be punished for her actions. No. She wouldn't have belonged to that dimension. But no one thought of that.

Not one _fucking_ person had the decency to take the time and _really_ think about where the poor girl was. They all just had to jump to the most obvious and seemingly _only_ conclusion. That she was in hell. Why? Was it because the bloody freak show goddess gave them all hell so the gang decided, "Oh, yeah, the bad guy was hell, they were from hell, that's where Buffy went after she jumped, so she's suffering eternally but hey, at least the world is saved and we're still alive and if anyone asks about her, we'll know and they'll believe us because we're right. We're right about her being in hell cause that's the only place she could be."

 _Bloody, blind idiots._

They think she should be a ball of joy after their magic mojo because they _saved_ her from eternal misery when in reality; they pulled her out of a place that… that was the complete opposite, a place that she deserved, a place that would give her the eternal happiness her poor soul needed.

And in that exact moment, Spike realized where she had been for the last 147 days.

 _She was in Heaven._

And it broke him.


	4. Crystallize

He felt the tears come pouring down his face in a stream of grief before he could process what was actually going on and stop the embarrassing flow of tears as he sat their and wept silently for the slayer. With his head in hands and gut wrenching sobs. Each tear that escaped from inside slowly made the alcohol in his body disappear when he wanted nothing more than to drink another five bottles of a strong substance and drown again in his grief as he sobered up. He wanted to forget again. He didn't want to face the truth. It hurt. His heart was shattered. And he couldn't seem to find the pieces. They were scattered somewhere in a void of nothingness that he suddenly felt.

Heaven.

A word, a place one only dreamt of. A place one would want to stay in forever. But she couldn't. No. Her destiny didn't allow it. Neither did her friends.

 _Fuck the mighty gods and their ancient prophecies of a chosen one_. This girl wasn't born into the world to suffer and hate to live. She was born _to_ live. But any ounce of happiness that she was given had been taken away from her. Heaven must've been…

Spike couldn't think of the right word. _Was_ there even a right word to use to describe an eternal feeling of happiness and accomplishment and rest? The place she _deserved_ to be in, she was torn out of.

Torn out, by her _friends_.

What kind of bloody friends were they?

"Spike?"

After a moments pause, Spike lifted his head and strained a smile onto his face. He gave her a small nod.

"I'm okay, Slayer", he said, wiping at his eyes.

" _Okay_ , Mr. Cries a lot for no reason. What was that about?"

He shook his head, forgotten marshmallow bits hung from his lip. He wiped at them effortlessly.

"Just me sobering up."

"Uh huh."

Rolling her eyes, Buffy turned her attention towards the box of entertainment that stood in front of the couch, pressing a button to turn it on. A reality TV show appeared on screen and another scene of pointless conflict and yelling came on. How many real housewives could there be? She flicked through the channels absentmindedly with an uninterested expression before finally setting it on the show from earlier. As entertaining and stupid reality TV was, _nothing_ seemed to hold her attention for more than half a second. She was disconnected from the world, but appeared mesmerized by the flickering lights on the screen.

As the lights kept flickering, the look on her face had hardened. Each flicker that went by across her face, darkening her expression, was just as terrifying as it had been before. Whatever thought was swarming inside of her head couldn't be anything light. She looked as if she was in pain. Was she thinking of _it_ again? The painful departing, the immediate sense of life again, the scent of soil and the earth, the panicked feeling of having no oxygen, the sense of relief once having reached the surface, the sight of her tombstone, the fire on the streets, the screaming and the yelling and the sound of her name, the sight of her friends, her enemies, her… punishers.

 _I'm being punished. Was I not good enough for heaven?_ The sudden thought hit Buffy like a ton of bricks. Each block smashed onto her as the pain she felt grew. If her self-esteem couldn't drop any lower than it already had been, this would've been the moment in her life where she realized just how much she hated herself. But that moment already passed a while back. This situation just made it worse. She wasn't good enough, not even when it came to being dead! That's why her friends pulled her out. Because she just wasn't _good_ enough. It was as simple as that, right? It was _her_ fault that _she_ was pulled out. Her friends were punishing her for being so stupid and… wrong. And they were right. She deserved it; the pain, the suffering, living her life knowing she could've done something to stop the mess of the century known as Buffy Summers, when she did nothing _but_ make it worse.

Why?

 _Why_ did she do these things to herself, to everyone around her?

 _It's because you're not good enough_.

That was why she needed to do what she needed to do to make something good out of herself, _for_ herself. No more showing her feelings, her panicked thoughts, she was going to do this _right_ this time. She was doing this for herself.

Spike had been staring at the screen for a while, commenting on the stupid actions by some annoying housewife who had just announced the pregnancy of her dog and decided to celebrate by partying and that, of course, led to an outburst from the husband and fight with the other dudes while the ladies shouted and the other dogs barked. He questioned the choices some people made, and animals. And as much as he hated to admit it, he enjoyed watching it. He gave a silent thank you to Buffy when she stopped flicking through the channels and landed on this gem of entertainment. It distracted him from the agonizing thoughts that had struck him earlier.

He took this time to peek at the Slayer, sitting beside him, on a couch, alone in a living room with the TV on, the two of them looking like a normal couple. If he moved closer, he could wrap his arms around her and pull her close and kiss her. Make her feel like things would be okay. But no, she would never let him. She would lash out at him with those bony arms of hers and kick him out of the house. She'd uninvite him and the invisible barrier would appear in between them, blocking him from entering and he'd be back at square one. He would be the enemy of the Slayer again. Not the lover. Never _could_ be the lover. He'd be the hopeless case. The desperate man staring at his too-cool-for-someone-like-him friend grabbing all the ladies and sometimes the men, while he stood by and observed and cried and felt sorry for himself because no one loved him.

Then as the days would go by, he would continue to pass the house, lurk in the shadows and stare in pity at the Slayer and watch her waste away as her so-called friends continued to ignore her problems and ask her to fix theirs. Because that's what she did. Save the world, and everyone else's world that they had in their minds. But no one bothered to take a look into her world and clean up the mess that it had become. If she would just let him in, explain to him how she felt about _everything_ that would make things a whole lot easier. But she wouldn't do that. He knew her better than that.

The need for some alcohol itched at his skin. He took another look at the Slayer before getting up and walking into the kitchen. He swung open each cabinet, looking high and low for any bottle that was full with heavy, hard liquor. At the bottom left cabinet by the sink he finally found it. Kneeling down, he wrapped a hand around it and smiled before standing up. He and Buffy could definitely use this time to get wasted and forget about everything, even if for a moment. Spike's lip curled and he walked over to the living room couch.

"Oi, Slayer."

Her gaze drifted from the screen to the bottle grasped in his hand.

"Care for a drink?"

Spike shook the bottle, gesturing for her to take it. She did without hesitation, almost greedily. Bringing the bottle to her lips she took a big gulp and swallowed before handing it back over.

"I really needed that," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve.

Spike took a long swig from the bottle as well, swaying slightly. He gave her a long, hard look before nodding in agreement. The alcohol bubbled its way to his brain again getting ready to blur his vision as the world around him swirled into a mix of unfocused shapes for the second time that night.

"Think we both did." He barely heard the words escape from his mouth.

Five bottles of cheap alcohol that the two of them didn't remember getting later, surrounded by empty bottles that drowned their sorrows, Buffy and Spike wound up on the back porch. Spike inhaled deeply from his cigarette, blowing out a cloud of smoke in front of Buffy's face. She coughed waving it away and he laughed. It felt good. Sitting on the porch, smoking and drinking, it made him feel normal. He was happy. Because he was with the slayer and she wasn't beating the shit out of him this time. They could almost get away looking like a normal couple. _Almost_.

"Why are we doing this?" the question came so suddenly, catching Spike off guard. He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled, letting it dangle from his lips. He cleared his throat and gave her a serious look.

"What do you mean?"

Buffy rolled her eyes and spread her arms wide. She pointed towards the bottles and then the sky and the house.

" _This_. Interacting. Almost like we're-"

"Normal?" he finished for her.

Nodding, she closed her mouth and looked down at her lap. Her fingers were laced together. Absentmindedly she began picking at a loose string from her sweater.

"It's weird. Out of all people, the way I used to envision this moment of having a _normal_ kind of night, hanging out with all my friends and not having to think about being the slayer, you were definitely _not_ involved."

Spike raised his eyebrows and smirked. He took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it off to the side; small bits of ash fell to the ground.

"What was it of?"

"What was what of?"

"Your _normal_ kind of night" he used quotations for the word "normal". He took the dangling cigarette from his mouth and flicked it off to the side, the leftover ashes landed on the grass. They looked like fireflies set on fire. He tried to imagine the screams that would erupt from the fireflies' throats as they burned and burned while the humans watched and called it beautiful. Trapping them in jars and placing them on shelves and showing them off to their friends. It was sick. Just like society was. Just like… the miserable group of scoobies the slayer called her "friends". Once again, quotations used.

"-And then I'd go home, say hello to my mom and maybe get in some last minute studying for a test I'd have the next day. Or sneak out to a friend's house and we'd drink and dance and party. I'd be hungover the next day but it's better than waking up with cuts and bruises and-," Buffy stopped. She glanced over at Spike who was staring deeply at the ground, lost in thought. She tilted her head to one side in confusion and hesitantly tapped him on the shoulder. He jerked back in surprise and swung his head to face hers.

"What?" he asked, his mouth still hanging open. Buffy grinned and leaned back, crossing her arms.

"Were you even listening to me?"

"Course I was!" he shot back, suddenly feeling very defensive. Buffy's grin grew wider adding a small flicker of light into her eyes. It disappeared quickly after as if she made a mistake of showing her happiness and replaced it with an angered expression. Her brows furrowed in anger and she shook her head, suddenly feeling very insecure about her feelings. Maybe she was just being too sensitive? That for once, she could talk freely to someone about her feelings and needs only to have them completely ignore her?

 _Pull yourself together, Jesus Christ. This is nothing serious. Look at the pointless conflict your causing. Just like reality television. You don't want any attention drawn towards yourself. Stop it. Nobody cares._

Spike's eyes narrowed as he watched Buffy's expression change suddenly. She looked troubled. It was the same expression she wore when staring at the television earlier. The same expression that haunted his everyday thoughts, the emptiness in her eyes, the shaking of her head, and the paleness of her skin as everything screamed out "help" all the while putting on this façade of "I'm totally better and not in pain." She was falling apart and the alcohol and small talk couldn't distinguish her pain. As much as Spike thought it did and Buffy wanted it to, some things were best paying close attention to and couldn't be ignored or numbed with a substance.

His mind went back to a year ago when he had found Buffy sitting alone on the back porch, her head in her hands, crying. He had stepped towards her, gun in hand with the intention of killing her. But when she looked up at him, it made him stop in his tracks. Her face held so much pain and he _knew_ something was wrong. A tear slipped from her eye and something flickered within them. Almost as if she had finally realized what he was doing and what he was holding, almost as if she wanted him to do it. To pull the trigger and let her pain and suffering end. Something had stirred inside of him, a feeling of guilt. It was a feeling of pain and sorrow for her. It was the same look the two slayers he had killed had given him.

The Death Wish look, he called it.

And it had terrified him to see it in her eyes. A year later, today, he saw the same look. But this time it hadn't come in a flicker. It was written all over her. He saw right through that façade, _every bloody day_. He saw, could almost _feel_ just how desperate she was to make this wish come true all the while pretending nothing bothered her and that she was fine.

It sickened him. Just like with the fireflies. The show she put on, all the smiles and fake laughs and attempts at living, but underneath all that shine was a broken girl, her light dying out, waiting for death to come swallow her up again. She had no way of escaping. Her friends had her trapped in a jar, and only took her out when they needed her help. It was sick and dirty and unfair and cruel and… and it hurt.

He reached out a hand towards her and let her cold, bony fingers wrap around his. He held his gaze for a minute and mentally let out a sigh of relief when she didn't jerk away.

Buffy stared at him in a moment of confusion. She looked down at their grasped hands and back up again. The expression he wore on his face showed something like compassion. It was almost as if her cared for her. And he did.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she stammered.

"Listening to you."

Before she could say anything, his other hand rose and rested on her chest.

"I may not have been listening to your speech about being normal, but I was listening to your thoughts and feelings."

"What, are you psychic or something?"

Spike laughed and shook his head. He let his hands fall to his sides and grew serious once more.

"Let's just say, I'm no fool." And with that, he stood up, grabbing his duster and half empty bottle of Jack. He took the last remaining swig of alcohol and threw the bottle onto the porch. It smashed. He then walked away leaving a drunk, confused and miserable Buffy behind to stare at the shards of broken glass as she tried very hard to not think of the broken pieces as little remnants of herself.

She never heard the front door opening ten minutes later.

Spike had a plan. It wasn't a genius plan. But he hoped it would work. If this didn't help the slayer, then he didn't know what would. Strolling through the empty street, his thoughts kept going back to the slayer and her Death Wish. He didn't know how to approach this plan. He just knew, and he hoped, Buffy would fight for her life in the process. That was all that mattered. That she fought. That she wanted to live.


	5. Mind Games

Dawn was worried.

She'd just walked in to find her drunken sister, surrounded by empty bottles, staring at broken shards of glass, with a distant expression clouding her face. The sight of Buffy sent goosebumps running all over Dawn's body.

The smell of tobacco filled the air, and Dawn's eyes immediately landed on the pack of cigarettes lying next to Buffy. She stepped over the broken pieces of glass, careful not to interrupt the daze her sister was in, and grabbed the box. Maybe it was Spike's. Her sister didn't smoke, did she?

Dawn shook her head. With the state her sister was in, she wouldn't be surprised if Buffy did inhale a cancer stick every now and then. Along with the drinking, it was the type of clichéd move one would make when depressed. Alone, outside in the dark and looking miserable… oh, now that put a sad image in her mind. She needed to stop thinking about this.

Suddenly Buffy let out a moan. She clutched at her head, closing her eyes. Her head had begun to hurt. Oh, and now she could hear loud pounding noises. Wonderful.

Dawn spun around in shock when she realized that her sister was moving. She almost dropped the box of cigarettes she was holding, but she managed to stuff them into her pocket.

"Buffy!" Dawn rushed to her side, and hooked her arm under her older sister's, pulling her upwards. Her sister stumbled and grabbed onto Dawn for support. A quiet "shit" escaped from Buffy's lips, followed by a "sorry". The brunette shook her head and carried her sister inside.

Dawn strained her neck to see the mess behind her that was on the porch and frowned. "I'm gonna have to clean that up later."

She put her sister to bed upstairs, ignoring her light weight. She gave her a soft kiss and shut the door, closing her eyes.

This was going to be hard. She'd have to act like the big sister from now on. Every minute that ticked by increased the amount of butterflies in Dawn's stomach. Her sister had fallen off the deep end, and was clearly drowning, but she was not making any effort to help herself. And if her sister wasn't going to help herself, someone would have to jump in to save her. That would have to be Dawn's job: saving her sister from drowning.

She pulled away from the bedroom door and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Her stomach was beginning to ache with hunger. That was the struggle of being a teenager- it gave you an increasingly large appetite, and you had to eat every hour. But in this case, food could also distract her from the stressful life she was living.

Dawn went through each cupboard. Cups and mugs, bowls and plates, chips, cookies, candy and cereal. She moved to the fridge, hoping to find some leftover pizza. From the top to the bottom she found: two sticks of butter, one carton of eggs, milk, orange juice (mental note to buy some later), fruits and veggies, six cans of pop (three Coke and three Nestea), and something triangular wrapped in tinfoil.

Dawn grabbed the food and unwrapped the foil: a frozen dough-covered-in-tomato sauce-and-cheese-pizza. _Score_. She grabbed a plate from the cupboard, dumped the pizza on to it and put it in the microwave. Fourty-five seconds later, Dawn found herself with a plate of pizza, sitting on the couch, and watching the remainder of trashy entertainment television.

Spike wandered the streets. Crowds of people knocked into him, stars danced in the night sky and laughter erupted everywhere. People were happy in good ol' Sunnyhell. The outsiders hung back, lurking in the dark. They stared at the joyful crowd wishing they could join them, and feel their bliss, but failed to do so.

Was that how the Slayer felt? Going through each day, watching her friends and family live without the heavy burden that she carried, watching from the outside, trying and failing to fit in?

Spike shook his head. His mind was too tired to dig deeper into this but he had no choice. He had to fulfill his plan. He'd asked the only person who could do it, but he felt a cloud of regret hanging over him about it now. _This is for the Slayer,_ he reminded himself.

He ducked into a dark alleyway. Clouds of smoke hung in the air, and rats were scattering everywhere, escaping to the sewers. Spike patted down his pockets for his box of smokes, looking for a distraction, but found them empty. A huge sigh escaped his lips as he realized that, bugger all, he'd left it at the Slayer's.

He smirked, amused as he imagined what the Slayer's reaction would be if he offered her a cigarette- a disapproving stare and raised eyebrows, perhaps? But the smile quickly fell from his face when he realized the only reaction he'd get would be a vacant stare and a shrug of her shoulders.

He was hoping to change that vacant stare into a look of interest, and that shrug into a meaningful hug.

He could get her a gift, something to make her happy, to reward her for coming back from the dead. Small baby steps towards a bigger journey ahead. She liked dogs, he was sure of it. Everyone loved dogs. What was that phrase? Pugs not drugs? Or was it hugs not drugs? Whatever. It would cost a fortune for a lil' pup like that. But the lil' bit and lil' pup would get along.

Where were all of these thoughts coming from? Maybe it was his inner child speaking to him after many years of silence. Or maybe he was still a bit drunk.

 _Okay, snap out of this, you twat,_ his inner child said to him. _Stop with these ridiculous thoughts. Focus._

A laugh bubbled in his throat and he clamped a hand over his mouth before it escaped from his lips. What the actual bleeding fuck was happening to him? Was he losing his marbles? _Oh, well it was nice knowing you, dear ol' sanity_. He held up his hands and squinted at them. He turned them over. Shaking fingers and bulging veins popped out at him. Sweat dropped from his forehead, and a pounding exploded in his eardrums.

This was the end, this was it, he was losing his mind just like Dru, and it was never coming back _._ He pictured his brain squirming out and plopping to the ground in a puddle of brain goop. He pictured a tire of a car rolling onto it, the remains of his mind broken. _Squish_. He grabbed at his head, clutched at it with all his might.

The sudden joy he'd had, the laugh that had begun to erupt, was vanishing, slipping, out of control. His chest was pounding, he was panting, or whatever this fast paced air slipping in and out of his mouth was called. His legs went numb and he crashed to the ground, knees first. He lifted his head, unable to take this pain, and opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. His head fell forwards and he pressed it against the ground, trying to calm down.

The pain slowly withdrew, leaving him with the question of: "what the fuck was that?" It wasn't the chip, it couldn't be. He hadn't attacked anyone, didn't deserve the set of unbearable headaches coming his way now. He hadn't done any harm.

He pressed his fingertips harder into his skin and felt a small dab of liquid. He moved his finger to his lips and tasted the metallic substance off it. Blood. His blood. _Was just a_ _small drop, nothing to worry 'bout_. Or was it? People didn't normally bleed from their head, nor feel an immense amount of pain like that.

Spike closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander again. He steered clear from the direction of pugs and drugs that came tumbling his way, again. This was not the time. He had to focus.

 _Focusfocusfocusfocus_. Focus on the Slayer, her wellbeing, and her winning smile that could light up a million rooms. Focus on the hoped for outcome, and the future. Focus on the relationship. Focus on the mission. _Why are you here? Why are you here? Why are you here? Forherforherforherforher. I'm here for her._

"If I had known you would've reacted like that, I would've brought my camera," a voice said, disrupting his thoughts. Spike opened his eyes and turned around.

He let his eyes adjust before settling them on the girl in front of him- scratch that, woman.

Her brown hair framed her face, resting just below her shoulders. She wore dark denim jeans and a white tee that met below her waist, under a dark blue flannel shirt. Her brown eyes bored into his with an intimidating stare.

The woman took three steps towards him and knelt down. She tilted her head, studying his face. His eyes followed hers; he was mesmerized. He tried to look away but couldn't. His eyes landed on her cleavage, a force of habit or something completely different? He felt a tingling sensation run through his body, and he shuddered.

Voices whispered in the back of his mind. They became louder, and louder, and suddenly they were screaming at him, laughing, telling him to grab her, grope her. His hand immediately grasped her left breast.

 _Nonononono_. He tried to push it away, let go and drop his hand to his side, but it wouldn't budge. Tried to flex his fingers, used every ounce of energy in his system to get them to slide off but nothing happened. This was wrong, so wrong. He opened his mouth, tried to get the words out. Why did his brain decide to bail on him when he really needed it? Nothing was working.

A soft cooing came from her lips and she caressed his face. The gesture felt so familiar. He closed his eyes and embraced the moment, fully emerged in every ounce of happiness he felt from the touch.

"Slayer." the word came out before he could stop himself and the moment melted away, just like that.

Laughter erupted from the woman's throat; she wasn't disappointed with the slip of tongue. In fact, and Spike couldn't comprehend why, she seemed merely amused. Whatever this woman was doing to him, he did not like one bloody bit of it.

She lowered her voice, even though they were the only ones in the alley, and traced his forehead with the tip of her finger. Spike narrowed his eyes and tried to pull away but her hand caught his neck and she pulled him even closer with great force; they were nose to nose. She let out a soft hush, quieting the voices in his mind, and shutting it down. His attention remained on her. He couldn't look away.

"Who…," The words struggled to come out. He swallowed the uneasiness he felt. "Who are you?"

The woman laughed and pulled her body back, standing up. She arched her back, stretching and placed her two hands on his shoulders. She pulled him close, forcing him to stand so he was right in her face, and gave him a taunting smile.

"I'm a witch." She lifted a hand, and a flame lit itself and disappeared just as quickly. Her eyes glowed with red electricity and continued to draw him closer.

"Some call me Amy." She whispered in his ear and pulled back. The electricity and the magic faded, leaving her looking normal again.

Spike fell to his knees; the magic urges he'd felt earlier disappeared. He looked up at her in shock, holding his two shaking hands close to him in a defensive gesture.

"What did you do to me an' my brain? Why couldn't I stop?"

The fake pout Amy put on just then reminded him once more of the Slayer. Amy shifted her weight to one foot and crossed her arms. "Stop what?"

"The… touching an' the pain from my…" he pointed to his head, not wanting to continue. He suddenly felt very drained.

"I like to call that trick mind control. It's a little something I do to mess around with people."

"So the thing with my brain didn't have anything to do with my chip or my brain exploding?"

Amy let out a laugh, shaking her head. "Oh no, that was just me scaring you. I wanted to see how you'd react."

Spike nodded and studied Amy more; the features of her face, the outline of her body. He gestured towards her with a look of confusion. "What's the deal with the magic mojo?"

"The what now?"

Spike sighed, raising his brows. "The electric eyes, the mind control, the bloody fire from your hand. Why do all of this, and then approach me like a normal person?"

"I like to _prove_ thatI'm a special human being."

"By being annoying?" he snickered. _Prove_. What proof did she have to give? He shook his head, eyes to the ground.

Amy smirked, her eyes not quite matching her lips. She placed an arm around him and trailed her fingers along his chest, seductively. He knew she was toying with him again but he couldn't help it. Spike looked down and followed the fingers on their journey upwards. A part of him was curious to see where they would lead.

They reached the base of his neck and that was it for him, his face morphed into something that wasn't human. His fangs shot out from the insides of his gums and his nostrils flared. His eyes shone yellow, his face messed up and bumpy.

Amy stepped back, a look of shock fading into amusement. "You're a vampire?"

He tilted his head, mocking her. "And you're a witch. Looks like we both just want to be _special_." He growled.

She wasn't fazed by his face, wasn't scared. She shifted her weight, studied him harder and then her face broke into a smile.

He felt his face shift back to normal before he could stop it. His thoughts of attacking her stepped aside, allowing his confusion to take the foreground. "What're you talking about?"

"I know who you are. _They_ told me all about you, how evil you were." A smirk settled on her face. She loved the confusion written all over him. Made playing her mind games more of a fun experience.

"Who? Who's _they_?" He had no bloody idea what she was talking about. What was with the mysterious act anyway? His mind was too exhausted to deal with this. He just wanted simple answers so he could get back to his undead life.

"Your two other witches. Back when I was trapped in a cage." She stated as if it were obvious. Clock was ticking.

"Red and Glinda?"

And then it hit him. The confusion finally drifted away. He was talking to the one and only Amy Madison, the girl who'd been a rat for three years before changing back. He knew the two witches had taken care of her before, mainly Red. Listening to Buffy's gossip back then proved not to be so useless now.

The magic and mind control forgotten, his thoughts rushed back to him in a wave, this time no pugs and drugs. The only thing that appeared in his mind was the Slayer and his plan. His _plan_. _Think, remember, what was it?_

A spell. He remembered the books, the resources, and the painful looks on the Slayer's face, the pain, _heaven_ , and the need for help, to help her. This was to save her. He remembered.

"Now it's all coming back to you!" Amy broke his focus with a cheery comment. "My mindfuck spell can really do stuff to your memory."

It all made sense now. The reason for the unbearable pain in his head and his sexual desires was mind control. That was it. That was all it was.

"Got the whole experience." _And it was a bloody awful experience. Never want this mind control shit to happen again_.

"Willow and Tara told me about your kill missions for Buffy. It was wild to hear about. I was seriously not expecting that phone call from you two days ago."

"Great. So you _can_ do it?" He'd forgotten about the phone call. _Oops._

"Of course. I mean, entering the mind of someone like what you were talking about is difficult, of course, but it's manageable."

Spike bobbed his head up and down, trying to process everything.

"How long should it take?"

Amy shrugged, taking her time to stare up into the night sky, a smile embedded on her face. Spike stared at her with confused amusement for a moment. She looked back down and gave another shrug. "It depends how far we go in to the mind. A couple of hours at least."

"I've got all the time in the world."

Amy smirked, held out her hand and created a ball of energy. The red light emanating from it shone on her face. A black cloud surrounded them. Sparks of electricity flickered and crackled in the air and Spike couldn't help but look around to admire it all. Was there a consequence involved for it looking so beautiful in that moment?

The magic filled the air, attacking his insides. The sharp pain he had felt in his head was back. He shot up and clutched at his head. He felt like it was being torn apart, having the skin ripped right off. _It's too much. Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch_.

That time, he did scream. His eyes rolled back and he tumbled to the ground, the magic draining from his body.

Amy rushed to haul him up by the arms and sat him upright against the wall. She knelt in front of him and took the opportunity to stare at him. She admired his sharp cheekbones, felt the urge to slice some skin and test how sharp they were, but fought against it. She considered leaving him sitting against the wall, thinking he'd done something bad. But she'd heard the desperation and panic in his voice during their call and as much as she would've loved to walk away and watch him suffer, the walls she had built around her heart managed to crack just for the sake of his love towards the slayer. And besides, for a spell like this it was worth it. Her curiosity itched at her, making her desperate to know the outcome of it all.

He looked so peaceful.

Her lips curled and her eyes glistened red. She leaned close to his ear and placed a finger on each of his temples. Her smile grew.

"You'll see her soon."


	6. Wanderlust

Pain was all he felt, shooting through him like an electric shock to his nerves, moving through every cell in his body.

A loud thud pounded from within as the gears of his mind slowly began to work again. A reel of events that had happened to him just before he blacked out presented itself in a slideshow: _Pain, Amy, beautiful orbs of energy, more pain, and darkness_.

His eyes opened, revealing his exact location. _Right, so I'm in Buffy's mind now_. Of course he was. The handy book he'd nicked from the Magic Box earlier had described the serene experience of entering somebody's mind, and this was it.

He was inside. Check one thing off his list.

Now what?

His thoughts went back to the spell book. If only he'd snuck it out and kept it with him, as a guide. Not knowing where to go from here now that the spell was complete was really gnawing at him. He should have written some notes down. But it was too late. He was already in her mind. No turning back. _Maybe I can pop out of here and reread the instructions? Or maybe I just forget about this and let the Slayer succumb to the darkness with me?_

As his eyes adjusted to the brightness that came down from somewhere above him, he looked around at the empty void that surrounded him.

It was kind of disappointing. He'd hoped for something exciting, colours and shapes and figures moving around, not this never-ending nothingness.

What could he possibly find here, with it being so empty?

Spike decided to get up on his feet and move around. His objective had not been to sit and sulk in an empty void. With trembling hands, he lifted himself off of the ground; a sudden shakiness had overcome him. _Please tell me the mind control is not happening again?_ He looked down and examined his hands: there was no bulging veins there this time. He pressed a hand against his forehead and realized he was sweating. He tried to swallow his fear but his body didn't let him. Why was he so afraid all of a sudden? The void was empty; there was nothing to be afraid of, right? _Nothing_.

He continued walking, unsure of where his feet were taking him, but trusting his gut, in the hopes that it would lead him in the right direction. _Trust your instincts_ : the wise words of the Slayer, and famous last words for him. Was he even moving? He was unsure. There were no pathways, and no sense of direction.

 _One foot in front of the other. Left right, left right, left right._

What if he got lost and couldn't get out? _Quit worrying, remember this is only your astral body. Your real one is lying outside in an alleyway looking like a passed out drunk._ The sound of his feet touching ground echoed across the room. The empty space dragged on and on. The funny thing was, as clean as the space looked, he could tell that underneath, there was a mess that had been painted over.

It was the perfect picture of health. But Spike knew better. He knew that to be perfect meant to be a little bit crazy. Suddenly he realized the significance of the emptiness he was surrounded by, and his eyes widened in disturbance.

There was nothing here to help him help her. There was nothing to give him a hint as to where he should begin, and there was no information for him to use.

 _How am I going to help?_

He shouldn't have done this; it was a waste of time. He should get out of here; go back to his old ways and stop caring about the Slayer's problems. Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't possible. Maybe he could get out, but he couldn't stop caring.

A spine-chilling laugh broke out from behind him, echoing throughout the void. He suddenly didn't feel lonely anymore. A silhouette began moving toward him, walking with the delicate grace of a dancer on stage, sharp heels and pointed toes. The alluring effect of the silhouette chilled Spike to the bone. Something about it was so haunting, yet everything about it was also stunning. The shadow faded, revealing a pale beauty. She walked with the confidence of a queen, a ruler of the mind, about to greet the one staring straight at her, his mouth agape with incredulity. Her slender form bent forward, hand outstretched; bony fingers caressed his chiseled jaw, bone to bone.

"Tell me, creature of the night," her voice, sonorous in the empty void, vibrated and echoed, catching him off guard. "What brings you here?"

He didn't know what to say, but opened his mouth anyway, allowing words to tumble out. "Was just going for a nice lil' walk in a very spacious area."

A smile spread across her face, her pure black eyes gazing directly into the windows of his hollow chest. _No soul_.

"Why not go for a walk in your own spacious mind? Why come to hers?" the smile was still plastered on her face and Spike wanted nothing more than to tear it right off. Its intimidating effect made his body quiver. _You're not scared. You don't get scared._ He never shook at a monster's smile, never batted an eye, but seeing this woman made him feel different. It wasn't her looks. It was that she was here-someone like her could be so damaging to the Slayer's mind. What she could do, that's what scared him. And that smile- he didn't want to think about what she could do to _him_ while he was here.

Two pairs of eyes met- each of them held a death glare, but one was masked with an innocent smile. _Fake bitch._

She wanted a reason for his coming and he had one for her, plain and simple.

"I want to help the lady," he said, and his determination gripped the phrase by its edges. His fear faded and his strength returned.

Her smile kept glowing, but he saw the façade slowly slipping. Clearly, she did not want him there, helping, given the murderous look in her eyes.

Silence filled the air between them, giving him a moment to plan effectively. If he wanted answers, questions would be a good way to start. And judging from her face, she wanted him to talk. _Right. Here I go._

"Let me start by asking you this, luv," he said. "Who are you?"

The plastered smile spread its wings out like a butterfly across her hollow face; her eyes twinkled despite the pure darkness they were filled with. She walked past him with a beautiful grace and Spike turned and followed her deeper into the void. He held back the more burning questions that were trying to fight their way out. First, he had to figure out just who this woman was and what she was doing in the Slayer's mind.

As the two continued walking, he felt a rumble come from above. Looking up, he saw something shoot through the empty air, fast and smooth. A solid streak of grey light soared above their heads and the ground he was walking on steepened and blocks pushed back forming stairs. Two walls crashed into place, parallel to one another, forming a long dark hallway. The ground shook and with surprising success, he managed not to stumble when the void shifted. His mouth was open in awe: the mind truly was fascinating; with all the different hidden places it held. _How was that possible?_

The sight that appeared before him shut his mouth; the wonder his face held vanished. The woman turned, and the haunting feeling returned. Shivers crawled over his skin once more.

Black painted walls had appeared. There were small holes the size of pebbles carved into them, forming words: _Worthless, disgusting, out of control_. They filled the room. A trail of red paint covered some words, but they were still clear as ever. The right side of the room was covered with a large TV monitor, bordered by smaller screens. The larger screen seemed to be turned off but he noticed a small box in the lower left corner of it that said _sleeping._ She must've passed out after getting wasted on the back porch with him. On one of the screens there seemed to be a montage of two girls playing together, spinning around in circles, jumping on the bed, and playing dress-up. One girl had straight brown hair and the other girl was blonde, both smiling and the similarities in their face features made it obvious who they were, _Buffy and Dawn._ Spike looked at the other screens. One was almost pitch black, but he was able to make out frail hands banging against a wooden surface. They broke through it, and sent a cascade of dirt caving in. Panting breaths echoed from the speakers along the screen and the hands began to claw through the dirt. _Her resurrection._ On the screen above, he saw Joyce lying dead, pale face and eyes wide open on the couch. He heard Buffy's cries and saw her hands reach out to shake the body. _Mom? Mom? Mommy?_ There was a note next to that screen, five words scribbled on it: _my fault should've arrived sooner_.

It was too much.

Spike closed his eyes, unable to look any longer. The images on the screens were memories that continued to haunt her, and memories that had created her. There were more playing on the other screens, but he couldn't look at them. What he'd just seen was enough to pull him into despair. Having those images playing over and over again in your mind was enough to break someone. Turning his attention away from the screens, he walked to the opposite wall, and pressed a fingertip against its surface, tracing each letter from each word with a delicate touch. He looked over to his right and saw what he assumed was a newly carved word. Dirt surrounded the edges, but the cuts that formed the lines of the letters were fresh. The red liquid he'd noticed before stuck to his fingertips but he didn't care because he was focusing on the words in front of him. They were practically screaming at him.

 _Wrong_.

It was repeated over and over.

"I assume you're desperate to know who it is you're facing." The voice of the woman drawled out, reminding him he wasn't alone. He turned to face her again, and that same haunting smile spread across her face, stretching the skin so her wide black eyes stood out against her other features. The long tense pause couldn't have been more agonizing for Spike.

 _Bloody cryptic creatures always have to be dramatic in their introductions._

With a flick of her wrist, the red liquid that coated the walls concentrated on the wall behind her, drawn there as though by a magnetic force. And as if things couldn't get more dramatic than they already were, she raised both arms above her head and spread them wide. A light flickered and the red liquid flew off the wall. In midair, the liquid changed to black and with her mouth wide open, she inhaled the substance, eyes closed. Her head fell back and with a crack, it snapped back up and she opened her eyes, the black liquid slowly filled her eyes until they were filled with a never-ending darkness. A daunting smile spread wide across her features, her eyes luring him in.

"Ana is my name."

He repeated the name in his mind over and over until it stuck like hard glue. He wanted to remember the name of the creature living inside the Slayer's mind.

"Ana what?" he asked, his insides burning with the desire to tear this figure apart with questions.

"Just plain and simple Ana. It's the name I like my hosts to call me."

"Hosts?"

"The ones I possess."

Spike tilted his head to one side, the confusion replaced with a manner of understanding, as the search for her identity was no longer a priority. Tracing her body with his eyes, the scent of her held nothing of a physical demon essence. Well, not a demon that was a night terror anyway, like a vampire or a werewolf.

It was clear that Ana was an Inner Demon, a demon that took control of the mind of its host. Spike had one; a monstrous miserable being that took control to quench his thirst. It was always there in his head, waiting for the right snap to give its chance.

Every bloody human on the planet had an Inner Demon they had to face; he'd sensed in the past the ones filled with eternal misery and longing for an end, the ones filled with a shaking desire to get their hands on the object of their obsession, the ones with burning tongues and an uncontrollable rage nestled underneath their calm façade, the ones that put on the smiles and said the automatic response, "I'm fine."

The one special thing about an Inner Demon was that they multiplied. They were the definition of mental disorders and everyone had at least one of the same types of demon giving a type of Inner Demon multiple hosts to possess. And with Ana… who was she? Which disorder was she known as?

"So which one are you?"

Ana's face darkened as she responded, almost like she wanted to kill him for being so slow.

"Ana, as in Anorexia Nervosa. I call myself 'Ana' because I like the sound of it better."

It made sense, really. Her skeletal appearance was one of Anorexia. But what didn't make sense was why the Slayer suddenly had an eating disorder.

"Are there more of you?"

"Of course there are. She's not the only one in the world with Anorexia."

He shook his head. That wasn't what he meant. No. What he couldn't wrap his head around was how could Buffy be this damaged with only Anorexia? Surely there had to be another disorder in there. He'd sensed other Inner Demons in the Slayer, too.

 _There should be more or my senses are wrong._

"There's only one of you," he pointed out, earning him an incredulous look from Ana. "I sensed more than one."

Ana stepped back and held out her arms in a gesture of presenting her body to him.

"It's because I _am_ all of them."

"What do you mean?"

Her arms dropped. She stepped forward, and she placed a cold hand on his shoulder. Batting her eyes, the darkness within them drew all his attention. The next string of words that came out her mouth signaled the beginning of the destruction of the Slayer's mind.

"Who I am is Anorexia Nervosa. But other parts of me contain her other disorders- the other demons you sensed inside of her. It's funny how with one mental disorder, others seem to appear as well: PTSD and depression. All that misery and hatred that she held in for years slowly too on inside. I never felt a more powerful desire for the End until now, 147 days later," she paused and let out a slight laugh.

Spike pulled back, to compose himself after hearing this new information. _147 days later._ Of course her jump off that tower was suicide. She wanted it. She was finished with life. And coming back to the world after being in peace, anyone would be willing to jump into Death's arms again. That's what Ana was referring to, the terrible summer before. He knew what if felt like to want everything to end. When Dru left him, when Buffy jumped from the tower, he'd felt an empty hole carve itself into his chest. Everything inside of him had spilled out, leaving him numb and empty. He knew what it felt like to give up, to want to give in to the pain. Alcohol hadn't been enough for him. A stake had been his best friend for a while, but he'd always been too much of a coward to stick it through his chest. But he was glad, now. He didn't want to be dead anymore. And he didn't want the slayer to die.

"So how do you fit in all of this?"

Ana stood in silence for a moment before gesturing for Spike to sit down, and he did without hesitation, ears and eyes open, intent on listening.

"There was just so much _pain_ inside of her, so much that eventually over the years, it manifested itself into its own Inner Demon. Not an uncommon thing, really. You see all of this has to do with the psychological issues of a person. Knowing Buffy and the life she lives and experiences she's dealt with, it'd be completely ridiculous if she _didn't_ have any mental problems."

Spike rested his hands on his knees and tried to tie everything together. So Ana has been inside of her for a while and because of this has been able to manipulate her mind using memories and thoughts to self-destruct. That would explain the screen monitors he saw before. It was all about the power one had over someone. She had been built by Buffy's depression, by every negative thought that had come to her after bad experiences. And a resurrection was enough for to bring all the worst memories flooding back, awakening the demon within. It had triggered her Ana's creation.

"And so you're all the mental problems."

She nodded and leaned against the wall, her back covering the word _wrong_. Spike gestured his head towards it, his curiosity settled again.

"So what's all this?"

She looked up at her creation, the destruction she had caused. Buffy couldn't have done any of it without Ana's persuasive voice in her head, enforcing the destruction. That was her job, and Ana relished in Buffy's misery. Her actions made Buffy think this was all her doing, but no. It was only the mental disorder.

"These are the results of the effects I cause her."

Spike crossed his arms and studied the wall more closely. Flashes of memories appeared in his mind all at once until one came back very vividly.

An alley on a dark night, love burning and hatred firing through the air between them. His words echoed in his mind as the scene played out.

 _You came back wrong_. That was what he said to her; that was what she thought. Her resurrection had created this place he was in; it was obvious, written all over the walls. He turned his attention towards Ana again, mind set on the puzzle he was attempting to piece together.

"Why don't you appear demonic?" His eyes scanned over her body. She had no scales, and no tail either.

"It's because of the kind of demon I am."

She traced the wall with one bony finger, and looked straight at him.

"We Inner Demons are not like your type of demon. Pain and suffering, that's what a demon does, but with us, it's what we have to feed off of, like you vampires and your blood. We provide the voice in your head that makes you feel like shit. We point out your flaws, direct you to compare yourself with others, manipulate your mind to self-destruct while trying to achieve perfection. We make you suffer but you think it's all worth it. The monster becomes your everyday life, and you like it because you believe that it will bring perfection. But it never comes. Of course," she laughed, a dark bitter laugh. "You don't want to stop because I, after all, have made you believe that without me, you have no control."

Another pause that held the room in a deafening silence. Finally it all settled, and Spike understood.

"And that's exactly how the Slayer feels," he stated. "They all want control and you," he pointed a finger at her, a sudden rage building. "You and your kind take it all away and you break them."

A spine-chilling laugh erupted from her mouth, shoulders shaking and body bent over, the vertebras of her spine stuck out at him until she came back up, wiping her under eyes.

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

Spike let out a growl and his face transformed, causing her laugh to come to an abrupt stop. He lunged forwards, shoving her back into the wall and pinning her there.

"You're a monster," he spoke in a breathless state, all his energy poured into his anger, eyes flared yellow. "Why come to her?"

Ana shook her head and gave a shrug of her shoulders; disinterested eyes stared back into his.

"Like I said, I was only built through her mental disorders."

A growl escaped his throat. She knew when to be annoying.

"If I killed you right here right now, would she be better?"

Something flashed in her eyes. Fear? Her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed and slowly, the feared look was replaced with her taunting smile.

"You know that I'm the only hope she has for control. What's a Slayer without control, without the ability to aim the stake in the right direction, without control over their powers? Nothing. A Slayer is all about strength and power. It's about instincts. It's about being a leader and in control of the situation. They're lost without it. And you don't want her to feel that way, out of control, if your intention is to make her better. So I'd be smart and get out of her head because only she can get rid of her demons."

The intensity of his eyes diminished and his tense muscles relaxed. She was right. This wasn't his fight. And as much as he wanted it to be, to snap his fingers and make her better, she had to be willing to recover on her own. _She_ had to be the one to kill the demon inside of her. It was as simple as that. _You're your problem but you're also your solution._

He could've easily just laughed in Ana's face and snapped her neck right then and there but he wouldn't. That wasn't the rule of this game. It wasn't his fight. A part of him was curious to know what would happen if he chose to snap this skeleton's neck. Would the Slayer be a perfect picture of health without the demons? Or would it destroy her because the demons were at the core of her?

No.

He couldn't risk it.

Spike could only do so much to help her but in the end, it only mattered if she was willing to help herself.

And Buffy had to.

She _had_ to.

He didn't want to lose her.

 _Not again_.

 _147 days was already too much_.

This was for her: she wanted control. Realizing her destruction would cause her to understand what she was doing and she'd gain it back.

Finally, Spike let go of Ana and she dropped to the floor like a rag doll. He watched as she struggled to stand, holding onto the wall for support, arms shaking.

He stepped forward, a slight smile on his face and held out a hand, waiting for her to grab on. It wavered in the air for a moment until hesitantly, Ana wrapped her fingers around it and was pulled up.

"I think it's time for you to leave," she said, panting. "You've seen enough. Now get out." She'd said too much.

It was time to go back to the Slayer. And she didn't like the feeling of having someone else with her.

Spike nodded in understanding. His first mission finished.

He closed his eyes, felt the icy tips of her fingers rest on his temples and he was transported back to his body, lying in the depths of an alleyway.

Ana's fingers hung in the air, an empty space between them. A cruel smile twisted lips.

"That's right, Spike. Run to her and tell her everything. Tell her before the pain makes me stronger."

She walked over to the wall covered with that one word. _WRONG_. She traced each letter with her finger.

"Save her before she kills herself."

Ana laughed and the walls that surrounded her began to shake. Cracks formed from in the nearest wall. Black ink spread across it, and a new word appeared.

 _Control_.

"It's time."

She raised both arms and with a flick of her wrist, the black ink swirled around and flew off the walls. She sucked it into her mouth; inhaling the lie she was going to tell Buffy. The blackness spread through Ana's veins.

Control was what she became.

From across the room, the center screen flickered and the text at the bottom changed to _awake_ as the image changed to the ceiling of Buffy's bedroom.

"I'm coming for you."

She became the monster that was going to tear the Slayer apart. And it started with control.


End file.
